Center of Love
by Roses of Sharon
Summary: City of Love. A study of Paris of Troy. 5, Andromache. And you wonder if you could hate this man who, however indirectly, killed your husband.
1. Briseis

Center of Love:

Disclaimer: I do not own _Troy_.

Summary: A study of Paris of Troy. 1, Briseis. You stare up at your cousin, your brother, the man who killed your love, and you think, right before he calls your name, that you could learn to hate him. BriseisAchilles.

City of Love

_(and wine and dirty buildings and crushed pearls)_

A Study of Paris of Troy

_Briseis_

You see your cousin aim a moment after the love of your life saves you, and a moment before he fires. The arrow thuds into the ankle of the man beside you, and he screams, anger and pain mingling in his voice. "No!" you scream, the words ripping from your throat. "Paris!" you call, hoping beyond hope that he will not fire again, though this man killed Hector and desecrated his body; that he will miss, though archery is the only warrior art he has ever mastered and Troy trains the best archers in the world.

An arrow flies past your ear with unerring aim and stands quivering in his chest. A cry tears from your throat, barely forming the words, "Paris, no!" Another arrow, and you turn toward him, not wanting to watch him die – another arrow, and he rips it out – but unwilling to let him die alone. He raises his sword, falters as another arrow joins the first, entering almost by the same hole in his armor. He stumbles, and Paris fires again, in a swift motion, one you had often admired and now hated.

He falls to his knees; an utterly defeated stance in an indomitably free man, and for a moment, before he calls your name, you wonder if you could hate your cousin. But he does call your name, he reaches out to you, and you know that it is for you that he has killed your love; it is for you and his noble and misguided sense of duty, evident now only that it is needed.

He clings to you, and whispers in your ear things you had always longed to hear, but was never able to, since you chose the virgin robes. Those robes, you think, still lie in a heap in his tent. He tells you not to worry, that it will all be okay. You know it's not true.

Paris calls your name again, and Achilles pushes you away from him. You reach out, and you grab your cousin's hand and throw one last, long look at your love; you wish you could hate the man who killed him, but you know you never can.

And you look at your cousin, strong and brave and pushing you ahead of him up the long flight of stairs that leads to salvation and a life of loneliness, and you wonder what choice you would have made had not the only two men left in your life made the decision for you; in agreement just this once.

But Paris is your cousin, and he loves you, and you love him. He has always loved you, always cared for you – when you were a child, and you tripped and fell in the fields, it was Hector who saved you, but it was Paris who picked you up and coddled you as Hector fixed the hurt. But Hector is gone, and now Paris is left; only Paris, but he is enough, you think, just enough.


	2. Achilles

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy

Disclaimer: I do not own _Troy_.

Summary: City of Love. A study of Paris of Troy. 2, Achilles. You find it strange that you do not hate him for killing you; and you wonder, before you die, if she forgave you, and if she will forget you. BriseisAchilles.

City of Love

_(and wine and dirty buildings and crushed pearls)_

A Study of Paris of Troy

_Achilles_

You do not hate him for killing you. It is strange, because once you would have been furious and you would have very happily killed him back; now, you only go through the motions. It is strange, and you think back to whenever it was this started – Hector, the Prince of Troy. Ironic, that your life should change because of a man you knew for moments before you killed him.

Still, you raise your sword in his general direction – his name is Paris, you recall, and you killed his brother and made love to his cousin and sacked his city – and you let your arm drop as you rip arrows from your chest. It doesn't hurt as much as you thought it would; only, you feel so tired now.

You crumple to your knees before you realize it, and her arms are around you, protecting you. Too late, you want to say, but you don't – partially because it would be too tiring, but mostly because you know it would hurt her feelings. You don't want that to be her last memory of you; the memory of you saying horrible things to her, and you wonder when you started to care.

He reaches a hand out to her – a hand covered in an archer's calluses, not a swordsman's – and you dimly hear him say that he knows a way out. That's all he needed to say, and you push your love towards him as firmly as you can. She leaves you, with only one trailing glance as she is pushed up the stairs.

You wonder, vaguely, if she forgave you for kidnapping her, for attacking her home. You're not a dumb brute, unfortunately; you almost wish you could be, if that would make her forgive you – but if you were a dumb brute, then you would never have met her and none of this would have happened.

And then you wonder if she will forget you. You don't think so – you like to believe that she is faithful, and that she will join you on the other side when she is ready.

And as you sink into oblivion, you hear voices that murmur, "_Welcome home, my brother."_


	3. Helen

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy

Disclaimer: I do not own _Troy_.

Summary: City of Love. A study of Paris of Troy. 3, Helen. Before him, you may have wanted to walk into the ocean and drown, but you would never have done so. After, you would rather have died a thousand such deaths then spend a day without him.

HelenParis.

City of Love

_(and wine and dirty buildings and crushed pearls)_

A Study of Paris of Troy

_Helen_

You fall into love as a woman, and he emerges as a man; you accuse him of foul play somewhere in between. Before him, you may have wanted to walk into the ocean and drown, but you would never have done so. After, you would rather have died a thousand such deaths then spend a day without him.

That is why you tell him that he cheats. You remember the days before he came to you and stole your heart away, days when you were all alone in your rooms, save for your servants, who were too frightened to speak to you without your husband's permission. You remember learning to survive on your own, to act gracious to those around you, and to lie helpless beneath your husband as he filled you with his seed as if you were a vessel – a beautiful vessel, but a vessel nonetheless; a vessel that he needed to ensure his line.

Then he came into your life like a soft river and a raging whirlwind, and swept you to your feet and out of passivity. You _need _him now, more than you had ever imagined needing anything before. Death, you think, is better than life without him – you wonder if he somehow snuck aphrodisiac on himself or a drug in you, that made you love and need him as you do.

But he is a fool. You love him, but that does not make you blind to his failings, to his failure. He is not like Menelaus, indeed, he is like no man you have ever known. You wonder if all Trojans are so soft. Menelaus would have said so – would have said that they had lived so long behind their high, impenetrable walls that they knew nothing of war and bloodshed and killing.

You know now that that is not a fault, it is a blessing. You are happy with your innocent little man, who believes in himself and those around his, who is not as jaded and cynical as you know yourself to be. You are changing, too, around him and around his people.

But you know for a fact that he is not pure, is not innocent. You have seen the way the prettier maids scuttle around him, seen the way the others bat their eyelashes at him. You know that he has taken lovers before; then again, so have you.

So does that make him soft? Does that make him a fool?

Or does that mean that you have changed him as well?


	4. Hector

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy

Disclaimer: I do not own _Troy_.

Summary: City of Love. A study of Paris of Troy. 4, Hector. You wonder if you have made your brother who he is.

City of Love

_(and wine and dirty buildings and crushed pearls)_

A Study of Paris of Troy

_Hector_

"Would you do anything to protect me, brother?" he asks you. "Would you protect me from anyone?" The answer has always been yes. You would do anything for him, this little brother who has always loved you and hero-worshipped you and needed you.

You wonder, when he steals the Queen of Sparta, if that is why he is so reckless. You have always protected him, cleaned up after his foolish messes. As a result of your love, he has never grown up, has never needed to.

You are discussing matters of war beside your father when he stands and, in a fit of dramatics, pledges to challenge Menelaus for Helen. You sigh and shake your head, wishing it could be that simple. You remember a time like that, when you believed that men did things for clear, honorable reasons. It is a beautiful dream, and you wonder how much it will cost him to lose it.

When you meet Helen that night, her luminescent beauty not concealed by the voluminous cloak she wears, you think first, that your brother is a fool. After, you think that she is one, too. You know that he loves her – or simply wants her more than he has ever wanted anything before – but you also know that she loves him. So you send her back, though you wish it could be that easy – that giving her up would be the key to avoiding this war.

When he deserts his fight with Menelaus and crawls to you and begs for your protection, it is more shaming than you'd ever thought it would be. But you cast aside your honor and thrust your sword into the King of Sparta, all for your little brother. The brother who, just last night, had been full of pretty words and passionate promises to defend his love and your country.

As you die, you wonder if this is the key to your brother's adulthood; you wonder if the inevitable fall of Troy will finally make him grow up and become a man. You think of what would happen if this were not so – you think that Troy will fall and the Sword of Troy will be lost, or, worse, kept by Agamemnon as a trophy of war.

You hope that he will learn. And you hope that he will raise your son.


	5. Andromache

Disclaimer: I do not own Troy

Disclaimer: I do not own _Troy_.

Summary: City of Love. A study of Paris of Troy. 5, Andromache.

City of Love

_(and wine and dirty buildings and crushed pearls)_

A Study of Paris of Troy

_Andromache_

He catches up to you around noon, this boy-child whose brother is your husband. His smile is forced, his quiver empty, and the cousin beside him still sobs. Helen rushed to his side almost at once, and he grabs her, your child still in her arms. Helen is crying, and Paris is whispering something to her that makes Briseis take the baby and turn away to hide her tears.

You force yourself to look away, though you want to watch them and, maybe, borrow some of their happiness. You remember the old laws – where wives were property, and you would be Paris' second wife now – and you find some sick, twisted pleasure in picturing him as Hector; you shake yourself with a faint feeling of revulsion, and then you gather you baby in one arm and hug Briseis with the other.

You look back at Paris, at Helen, one more time, and wonder, vaguely, if you could hate this man, your brother, who, however indirectly, killed your husband. You decide that you can's. Even more, you decide that Hector wouldn't have wanted you to.

Paris has never been the kind of person you could learn to hate. You can disrespect him and think him a fool, but it does not make you hate him – he is like a child, in that it makes you want to help him, to teach him. Hector's death, you think, has accomplished that rather well. You see that Paris is not so much a boy-child as a boy-man, and you think Hector might have been proud. You hope so. Desperately.

And then your baby begins to fuss, and it knocks Briseis and Paris and Helen out of their reverie, and Helen turns toward you as if she wants to reach out and take him from your arms and cradle him in hers, but she is afraid to take this from you – all you have left, now. "He wants his father," you say, and the tears finally come.

They have always called you a strong woman. _Andromache will make a fine Queen_, they whisper. _Andromache is strong. _You don't feel strong. You don't feel like a Queen.

You never thought you would need him this much. You have always loved him, but it is not until mere days ago that you knew how much; you have always known him and cared for him, but you never noticed how much he smoothed your way.

And you don't know how you will survive without him, but for the sake of the baby boy in your arms and the burning city left behind, you will. You stand up and wipe your eyes, and then you stake the first step toward your King. "The King is dead," you whisper, almost to yourself. "Long live the King."

The baby in your arms coos and burbles.


End file.
